Part 2 — POOR CRAZY ROBERT.

Poor Robert is crazy, his hair is turn’d gray, His beard has grown long, and hangs down to his breast; Misfortune has taken his reason away, His heart has no comfort, his head has no rest. Poor man, it would please me to soften thy woes, To soothe thy affliction, and yield thee support; But see through the village, wherever he goes, The cruel boys follow, and turn him to sport.

’Tis grievous to see how the pitiless mob Run round him and mimic his mournful complaint, And try to provoke him, and call him old Bob, And hunt him about till he’s ready to faint.

But ah! wicked children, I fear they forget That God does their cruel diversion behold, And that in his book dreadful curses are writ, For those who shall mock at the poor and the old. Poor Robert, thy troubles will shortly be o’er, Forget in the grave thy misfortunes will be; But God will his vengeance assuredly pour On those wicked children who persecute thee.